


A Solid Deduction

by potentiallyAWKWARD



Series: Johnlock One Shots [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Always1895, Bearded!John, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 14:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15775767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiallyAWKWARD/pseuds/potentiallyAWKWARD
Summary: August's prompt was bearded!John for the Always1895 challenge, but I personally am not a fan of facial hair, so I had to make due. ;)





	A Solid Deduction

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, un-Brit Picked, didn't even read through a second time. All mistakes, therefore, are solely my own and probably could have been easily avoided.

“You’re home early,” Sherlock remarked, fingers steepled over his mouth as he lay motionless on the couch. “Didn’t expect you for another forty-seven minutes.”

John huffed a laugh, dropping his duffel bag on the carpeted floor with a quiet ‘whump’. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Despite the fact that his eyes were closed, John knew that Sherlock rolled his eyes as he replied, “You were only gone for four days. I’d barely noticed your absence.”

“Mm,” John hummed in agreement, glancing around the half-demolished flat. “You just decided to buy a week’s worth of newsprint and toss it around the living room because you were bored, then.”

“It’s only five days’ worth, actually,” Sherlock countered, finally cracking open his eyes. “There’s no post on Su—what on earth have you done to your face?”

For one heart-stopping second, John thought he had a horrible, gaping wound on his forehead that was bleeding onto the carpet. Before he could ask what the problem was, he realized—he’d forgotten to take his razor to the conference and the front desk at the hotel he'd stayed at was out of them.

“It’s hardly even enough to be considered stubble,” John smirked, reaching up to feel the short bristles on his chin and cheeks. “Just because you can’t grow any facial hair doesn’t mean the rest of the world shouldn’t.”

Sherlock’s scowl deepened. “I most certainly am capable of growing _facial hair_ , John. I just don’t think that homeless drug addict is a good look on me.”

“You would know,” John retorted before he could think, immediately regretting the words. “I—no. That wasn’t—I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

The detective’s face had gone from irritated to slate-blank in the blink of an eye. “Oh, no, go on. Deduce me. Tell me more about my addict days. You’ve learned my methods… except, no, Mycroft has told you about my brief stint of vagrancy.”

The meaning behind Sherlock’s words were as clear as if he had said them aloud: _I know that you chat in secret with Mycroft about my drug habits._

“It… has come up once or twice, yes,” John replied stiffly, suddenly very uncomfortable with the conversation. “Look, if you really hate my stubble that much, then I’ll shave it.” _Never mind the fact that it was itchy._

Sherlock swung his legs around suddenly and stood, stepping unceremoniously over the coffee table as he beelined for John. “Oh, no. It’s the ‘look’ now, isn’t it? All the ladies will _swoon_ over John Watson with a beard. Just think of all the dates on your horizon.”

The conversation, which was getting stranger and stranger with every word, was thankfully cut short by a crisp rap on the door.

“Who-who! I heard you come in, John, and wanted to say hello.” Mrs Hudson beamed at John as she glanced over him. “Oh, don’t you look dashing; my husband used to wear a beard. It made him look more mature, I think. Not that you didn’t look mature before,” she added with a chuckle.

John smiled graciously at her, wishing desperately that he had just remembered his bloody razor when he left for Dublin on Friday morning. “Yes, well, I don’t think I’m keeping it.”

Mrs Hudson sagged in relief. “Oh, _good._ I don’t think it suits you. And Sherlock prefers clean-shaven men, don’t you, Sherlock?”

Sherlock cast Mrs Hudson a strange look before huffing and stomping off toward his bedroom. “I have a pressure-sensitive experiment to run in my bedroom, so don’t open the door.”

John raised my eyebrows at Mrs Hudson, who shook her head fondly. “Always a touch dramatic, that one,” she sighed. “I have some biscuits in the oven. I’ll bring some up when they’re ready.”

She fluttered away, muttering to herself about the state of the flat (“The mess Sherlock leaves! You’d think he was raised by animals.”) and John trekked to the bathroom, finally able to rid himself of the apparently offensive scruff.

~~~

“What did Mrs Hudson mean?” John broke the silence, looking up from his newspaper. Sherlock cracked an eye open, one leg dangling off the couch as he thought.

“On which occasion?”

The doctor cleared his throat, sitting up in his armchair. Her statement had been eating away at him all day as he puzzled what it could mean, but he had no leads. He preferred hairless flatmates? Doctors? Partners in crime? “When she said that you prefer your men clean shaven,” John finally clarified when it became apparent that Sherlock wasn’t going to guess.

Sherlock huffed, nestling himself into the couch even further. “She is under the impression that I have, in the past, taken on male lovers and that I prefer them without facial hair.”

John cleared his throat. Several seconds passed without any further explanation. “It’s… a false impression, then?”

Sherlock’s nose bunched up. “No. Beards give me rugburn.”

A shocked laugh escaped John’s throat before he could contain it. Of course, he had had his speculations about Sherlock’s sexuality, but John had always assumed that Sherlock was some level of asexual.

Sherlock cracked one eye open again, peering hesitantly at John. “It’s been a very long time. I don’t—I haven’t taken on any lovers for several years.”

“I mean, I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but I think I might’ve noticed if there was an extra bloke at the breakfast table,” John pointed out with a smirk, trying to seem nonchalant. Sherlock swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But I agree. Beards chafe and make intimacy very uncomfortable,” John finally added.

It was Sherlock’s turn to be surprised—his mouth popped open into a perfect ‘O’ as he shot upright, nearly falling off the couch. “You—what?”

John flushed, surprised by his own audacity. He, of course, thought that Sherlock already knew, but there are some things that he never thought he would need to say aloud. “You didn’t deduce that I’m bisexual?”

Sherlock was still staring at John in shock, mouth agape. John could practically see the wheels turning in the detective’s brain as he re-analyzed every bit of information he had about John in search of clues that he had missed.

“You said you weren’t gay,” Sherlock finally stated, blinking rapidly. “I didn’t… I thought I was just incorrect about—”

“Your gaydar?” John finished with a laugh. “Christ, we’re both idiots.”

Sherlock’s gaze flickered shyly up to John’s, causing the doctor’s stomach to swoop in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time. “Can I assume that some of my other… deductions… are correct, then?”

John swallowed, suddenly nervous. “I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me what they are.”

Sherlock licked his lips, eyes flickering across John’s face, before suddenly standing and making his way to John’s chair. Sherlock bent down as John looked up, their noses brushing.

John could feel his pulse in his throat as he swallowed again, suddenly very aware that Sherlock’s eyes were an impossible shade of slate blue. They both hesitated, breaths mingling, before Sherlock finally closed the space between them and pressed his surprisingly soft lips to John’s.

Fireworks bloomed behind John’s eyelids as he tensed, suddenly hyper-aware of his situation. Sherlock placed his hand on John’s elbow, guiding him to stand, never breaking the kiss. It seemed to go on and on, chaste and passionate and hot and cold and more than John could have ever hoped for, or even imagined… and then Sherlock was pulling back, face flushed and a ridiculous grin on his face.

“I’d say that was a pretty solid deduction, yeah,” John agreed before leaning in for another kiss.


End file.
